


jacket

by writinginthesecrettrees



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bottom Sam Winchester, First Time, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rimming, Top Dean Winchester, Wincest Endgame, brief Dean/Random Woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:01:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23890522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writinginthesecrettrees/pseuds/writinginthesecrettrees
Summary: Currently thinking of Dean, gathering his strength before pushing open the motel door because he’s faced down werewolves and wendigos less dangerous than Sammy when he’s warm and sleepy and wearing nothing but boxers, looking up with a smile and a yawn when Dean walks in the door.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 174





	jacket

Currently thinking of Dean and he’s finally got Sammy back with him again, finally got the mix of heaven hell that is Sam next to him in the Impala, all golden skin and long limbs and the kind of sunshine beauty that Dean would gladly incinerate himself on but untouchable because of the one thing that makes him the most precious: _brother._

Dean’s so caught up in the push and pull of wanting Sam that he thinks his heart stops, knows his breath stops when Sam steps out of the motel bathroom, rubbing a towel over his hair and drops of water trickling down his shoulders, over his pectorals, rippling over his abs before soaking into the towel that just barely wraps around Sam’s slim hips. Dean stares until his lungs burn, can almost taste Sam’s skin as he imagines catching the drops on his tongue.

His sudden gasping inhalation makes Sam look up, a question in his eyes, and Dean manages to mumble something about going to a bar before he flees, out the door and halfway down the road before he remembers he forgot his jacket in their room and he might not be a coward but he can’t face going back just now. Not with the sound of Sam’s confused “Dean?” echoing in his ears, chasing him the bar.

He sticks to beer, conscious of the drive back to the motel. Needs a different distraction than alcohol, and he looks for it in every too-short skirt and pretty face in the place. Finds a woman with glossy hair in a tomboy cut who grins when he asks her to step outside, share a cigarette in the alley.

It’s an exercise in frustration. On her knees she looks like Sammy with her short brown hair and her pink lips wrapped around him, and Dean leans back against the wall, curls his fingers into her hair and closes his eyes and tries to capture a fantasy in her bobbing head. He’s almost got it and nowhere near finishing when she pulls off with a whine, rubbing at her jaw. Getting her pressed face-first against the wall is better, puts his nose in her hair and her hip under his hand is slim like Sam used to be, sparring in high school on Dad’s orders. The grunts and moans he fucks out of her ruin it, soft and sexy and not Sam and the fantasy slips away as he thrusts harder, faster, chasing the dream of his little brother that always vanishes before he can grasp it.  
She’s trembling and half incoherent when he gives up on getting off and pulls out, drops the empty condom on the ground with a dozen others while he tucks himself back into his jeans and carefully does up the fly.

“You didn’t…” she gestures vaguely, might have pouted if her face could do anything other than a fucked-to-exhaustion grin.

“It’s not you, sweetheart,” Dean says, and it’s true. He hasn’t been able to finish since Sammy got back, his body refusing to accept a substitute when everything it wants is less than an arm’s length away.

He leaves with a kiss and her number in his pocket - “In case you ever get over whoever it is” - that he’s never going to use, heads back to the motel to bury himself in Sammy scent and a guilty wank in the shower.

-

Currently thinking of Sam and he’s got enough distance from his grief for Jess that old feelings, buried and hidden and deniedeniedenied, are starting to come back. And it’s not like he doesn’t have plenty of experience pushing these feelings down, but…

But.

This time there’s something, and it might be wishful thinking, but Sam thinks he sees Dean watching him. Gazing at him, with this half smile like Dean doesn’t believe he’s real, like Dean has felt as empty and lost without him as he has without Dean. Like maybe Dean’s as fucked up as he is. Like maybe there’s hope.

He can’t risk losing Dean, though, not when Dean is the only thing he has left in the world with Jess dead and Stanford so far behind him he’d never find his way back, so Sam tries subtlety. A hand on Dean’s shoulder when they’re searching for history on a ghost, a soft touch to the small of the back when he passes behind Dean at the motel. And hearing the way Dean’s breath catches, feeling the slightest pressure that might be Dean leaning into him and could be imagination, keeps his hopes alive.

Sam’s getting impatient, though. Subtlety is safe but slow, and that’s why he ups his game, starts wearing less and less around the motels, stripping down to single layers or completely shirtless as soon as they’re behind closed doors. He takes extra time in the shower, working up his courage for a blatant seduction, encouraged by the way Dean’s eyes snap to him as soon as he starts pulling his shirt over his head, and steps out into the room naked except for a towel.

It works, Sam knows it does by the tiny whimper coming from Dean where he lies sprawled on his bed. Sam doesn’t look up, focuses on scrubbing his hair dry with a matchbook sized towel and pretending not to notice the towel on his hips loosening, slipping down an inch. A sudden choked gasp startles him and he looks up, sees Dean standing by the door, eyes wide and wild and Dean’s mumbling something as he opens the door, practically runs to the Impala and ignores Sam’s call of “Dean?” in his rush to get away.

Sam throws himself across Dean’s bed, buries his face in the leather jacket that Dean left behind, and sighs.

And cries.

And when he runs out of tears, he makes a new plan.

-

Currently thinking of Dean, gathering his strength before pushing open the motel door because he’s faced down werewolves and wendigos less dangerous than Sammy when he’s warm and sleepy and wearing nothing but boxers, looking up with a smile and a yawn when Dean walks in the door.

Currently thinking of Dean and gathering his strength did absolutely no good because while he might have been able to resist a sleepy sweet Sammy, might have been able to see him as his innocent little brother curled up and needing protection, he finds something else in their motel room.

Currently thinking of Dean and his mouth is watering at the sight of Sam, lying on _Dean’s bed,_ wearing _Dean’s jacket_ and nothing else, on his hands and knees and it’s Dean’s little brother but Sammy looks utterly wanton and debauched with his hole clenching around his fingers and his dick dribbling precome over the bedspread.

Currently thinking of Dean and he’s frozen in place until he hears Sam gasp out his name. That’s all the invitation he needs to take the two steps to the bed, stripping off faster than he ever has before the universe has time to right itself and take away this one shining chance of happiness. Sam’s so caught up in his own pleasure that he doesn’t know Dean’s there until the bed dips under Dean’s weight.

Dean’s imagined his first kiss with Sam countless times, but never like this, never his lips on Sam’s skin and his tongue exploring puckered flesh with Sam’s fingers getting in the way until Sam pulls his hand away and Dean can lick and nip around his loosened hole unimpeded. He makes out with it, holds Sam’s hips still and savors the musky dark taste of Sam’s skin and cherry lube and the honey sweet sounds of Sam’s voice, keening softly and begging for more and nothing has ever sounded better than Sam saying “Dean” in that tone.

One of Dean’s hands slides down, wraps around Sam’s cock and Sam yelps, struggles away from him. Dean pulls back like he’s been burned.

“Not like that,” Sam says, and there’s a hint of a boy spoiled by his older brother in his voice and that should be a turn off but it makes Dean’s dick throb. “Wanna have you in me when I come.”

“Always knew you were the smart one,” Dean hears himself say and it must have been right because Sam’s smiling, leaning back against the pillows and sliding down with his legs spread wide and it’s the prettiest thing Dean has ever seen.

He slides into his little brother and it feels like coming home, right in a way nothing else ever has, a perfect fit, and the look of blissful contentment on Sam’s face - _that Dean put there, Dean made Sam happy_ \- brings a sense of peace even as Dean starts thrusting bruising hard. Sam’s silky smooth inside, slick with lube and Dean’s saliva and hotter than Dean could dream and Sam’s arms wrap around Dean’s neck, pull him down for a sloppy kiss, all tongue and teeth. 

Dean falls into the kiss, falls into Sam, gives himself up to everything he’s been wanting. He finds his release in the clenching muscles of Sam’s orgasm, in hot breath panting against his cheek, in Sam’s teeth sinking vampire-like into his throat while Sam muffles his own cries in Dean’s flesh before falling back, limp and sated and smiling sleepily up at Dean as he finishes, spills deep inside his brother.

Sam doesn’t let Dean up, latches onto him with both arms and legs and he’s bigger than he was the last time he played octopus so Dean surrenders to his fate after half-dragging them into Sam’s untouched bed. When they’re tucked into the clean sheets, Sam still clinging to him and smiling in his sleep, Dean dares to whisper everything he’s been biting back for months.

-

Currently thinking of Dean, waking up alone in bed and his heart drops when he reaches out and Sam isn’t there. He sits up and he’s in Sam’s bed, his own a mess of stained blankets.

His heart breaks at the empty room, mends itself seconds later when Sam bursts through the door, all sunshine smiles and a bag of breakfast burritos.

“I got breakfast!” Sam says, casual, as if this morning is no different from any other.

Dean searches for something to say that won’t lay him bare, but he can’t think of anything so he stuffs his mouth with burritos to avoid answering. Grins up at Sam and chews openmouthed just to see the look of horror on Sam’s face.

“Gross,” Sam declares. “I’m gonna eat outside.” He grabs his own burrito and heads back to the door, pauses just before leaving. “Last night… I heard. And… and me too.”


End file.
